


Journal of a Madman

by IceMagician



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 09:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20992577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceMagician/pseuds/IceMagician
Summary: Yellow Eyes took Sam as a baby, and raised him to be a warrior, a Boy King, a monster, but now Sam is on the run. Jumping from madhouse to madhouse, Sam hopes to keep himself as far away from Yellow Eyes, and others, as possible. But what about Dean? The eldest Winchester isn't one to give up, especially on family, but is Sam too far gone to even be considered "family"?





	Journal of a Madman

Lawrence, Kansas, 1983  
The flames burned hot on Dean's back. Even as a young kid he understood the gravity of the situation- Daddy was in trouble.   
John shoved Sam into young Dean's arms screaming, "Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, GO!"   
Dean grabbed Sam and ran downstairs, feeling the heat of the flames singe his hair. He bolted out the door, but his feet slipped on the dew-covered lawn. Sammy went tumbling out of Dean's arms, wailing and crying. Worry for his baby brother spurred Dean to his feet. He got to his feet, but froze.  
Out of nowhere a figure appeared, standing between Dean and his brother.   
Though the man's back was turned Dean could feel a smile creep into his voice. "On second thought, you're too precious to leave behind. Aren't you, Sammy?"   
The figure turned to face Dean, making the young boy's blood run cold. His eyes were a sickening pale yellow. The evil churning within their depths was enough to make any stomach flip and grown men run away, but not Dean. Dean wasn't leaving Sam.   
The youngster heaved himself up with scraped palms, "You leave my brother alone!" he shouted.   
The yellow eyed being chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Dean's spine.   
"Oh," he sized Dean up, "why didn't I choose you instead? You've got spunk, kid." The man leaned over, gleaming yellow eyes staring into crystal green ones, "but I will take your brother, and you can't stop me."  
The man swiveled around, scooped up crying Sam, and looked down upon the mortified brother.   
"Don't worry, kid," he said." I'll take nice care of your brother, better than your daddy ever could." The demon spat the distasteful word.   
He smiled down at Sam's tear-streaked face. "Yeah, we'll have lots of fun. Won't we, Sammy?"   
Dean lurched forward and pounded his tiny fists on the man's leg.   
He shouted at the top of his lungs, hoping beyond hope that his father could hear him. "LET MY BROTHER GO!!! LET MY BROTHER GO!!!"   
"Oh, quite a temper on you. You'll see lil Sammy again, someday." He grinned at the boy. "See ya later, Dean-o."   
The man snapped his fingers, and was gone. The only trace that he was ever there was the smell of sulfur, and a pair of boot prints fading quickly in the grass.   
Dean sobbed. His tiny form fell onto the dew-soaked grass. "BRING MY BROTHER BACK!!! BRING MY BROTHER BAAAAACCCKKK!!!"  
.  
.  
.  
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for so many reasons. I’m sorry I could never be the son you deserved. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the brother he needed. Most of all, I’m sorry that I didn’t know you. I fought, but not enough. I ran, but not fast enough. I resisted, but only when it was too late. I’m so sorry for who I became. You deserve to hear what led to this.  
Madness was more of a side effect than the original disease. Madness that tears at the brain and tries to whisper the soul into the blissful dark.   
For seven years I ran. For seven years I was going more and more insane. Slowly but surely. It got worse every day. I was plagued with nightmares in the darkness. I could never sleep. I hallucinated when I was awake, so consciousness was a living hell.   
In the beginning, I constantly wondered if it was all worth it. The nightmares, the hallucinations, cacophony of resounding voices. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t die. I knew death was worse than living on the run.  
There was no Heaven waiting for me. As I would take my last breath, I would spiral downwards. Their groping claws would pull my soul in every direction. Every demon across every plane of existence would have known I had met my end, and he would have come for me. Even in death, he would find a way to use what I was.   
So, I never gave in. I somehow always stopped myself. Now, I know it was the Winchester in me.  
I would run. I would run until I couldn’t run anymore. And when my time ran out? When I inevitably would see him again? I took comfort in knowing that my death hadn’t been from my own hand.   
Living in my own hell was better than making others’ lives miserable. He had twisted my being into something, something indistinguishable. I had been used. I had been a weapon. I swore on my life that I would never crawl back to that, no matter how broken my sanity would become.   
I was Sam. I was a boy with no name, no family, friends, no one. I had been raised by a demon who had taken everything, but I would not be a puppet any longer.  
.  
.  
.  
The white washed rooms stared back at me. White sheets, white table, everything was so sterile and clean. Unlike me. I felt as if I didn't belong in a place such as this.   
Yes, I belonged in an asylum, but my room's atmosphere of purity made my stomach ache with guilt. I wasn't pure, and I certainly was no hero. I was dark. I was a black, endless void of horror. I was the monster children fear lurking in the cold blackness. I was every lost and lingering shadow. Nowhere to go and nowhere to belong. I was everything he had molded me to be.   
No family, friends or even a random cousin that no one really knows but they always show up at family reunions. No, I had none of those things. The only constant in my life was this- solitude. The icy chill of being alone for too long almost overwhelmed me sometimes. But that was okay, I'd convinced myself. I was away from people, and they were away from me. More importantly, I was away from him. Three asylums in four months, and I had no intention of letting him catch my trail. I wasn't going back. Not now, not ever.   
My door opened, snapping me out of my trance. It was the nurse, Collie, coming by with the med cart. Collie was cute with her curly brown hair, and knowing green eyes. She was one of the few nurses that would actually have casual conversations with the patients; we were real people, not abnormalities set aside in a desolate facility.  
She smiled at me and I managed a weak imitation of a grin back. I liked Collie, but I was never one for social interaction. Still, Collie persisted.  
Collie brought over the cup with half a dozen pills inside, "Here you go," she passed the cup to me with some water to wash it down.   
I always took them, just to humor the staff. I didn’t need medication. Doctor’s could do nothing to fix a broken soul.  
After making sure the medicine was gone, she did a routine check of vitals. I found this excessive, but the institution insisted on making sure their patients were well taken care for.   
Collie slid her stethoscope down her neck after checking my heartbeat, "So, Sam," she said, "how have you been feeling?"   
I said nothing, knowing actions spoke louder than words. Nothing is more deafening than utter silence.  
She bit her lip in concern, "May I?" Collie asked, gesturing to the spot on the bed beside me.   
I nodded, "Sure."   
Collie slid down to sit. A sad, concerned look criss crossed her face. "Have you been keeping a journal like I asked?"   
I gave a sad chuckle. “Yeah, not like there’s much to write about, though.”  
"No improvement at all? Not even a lighter mood to the dreams?"   
I sighed. "Still monsters... It's always the same, Collie, and I can't stop it... I don't think it will ever stop. I’m sorry. I know you care, and I appreciate that, but there’s nothing you can do to save me."   
I studied the linoleum floor, surveying its blocked pattern as I waited for Collie's optimistic response. She had always tried to make things better, to make things seem not half as bad as they were. Unfortunately, it had never worked.  
Just as Collie opened her mouth the speakers turned on, announcing it was nap time. Saved by the asylum intercom. She stood and piled her stethoscope atop the cart.   
She glanced back at me. "Sam, if you ever need anyone to talk to, about anything, I'm here. I hope you know that. Okay?"   
She sounded worried, as if my yes or no would make would break her entire world. I tried a half smile again. "Yeah, sure, Collie."   
Collie smiled, pivoted, and pushed her cart out the door, brunette hair flipping behind her. I was alone again with my thoughts.   
My eyes grew heavy. I didn't want to sleep, but exhaustion doesn't care what I think. Involuntarily, I laid back and slid into another nightmare.   
.  
.  
.  
I ran hard, fast. I hadn't run that fast in a long time. I was in a forest. Tall oaks and spruces loomed above my head to form a canopy, blotting out the sun. It was hard to see anything. My breathing was heavy and I was sweating buckets. I had been running for so long that my brain couldn’t recall when exactly the chase had started.  
The smell of blood stopped me dead in my tracks. I licked my lips and a salty, sickeningly familiar taste oozed down my throat. Not today. Not ever again. I'd been clean for too long to cave in now....   
"Sam!"   
A man's voice echoed across the dark woods. He sounded familiar somehow, but not from my nightmares. It wasn't the voice of my victims, my colleagues, or my tormentor.   
This voice wasn't threatening. There was genuine concern. My heart ached. Whoever this mystery man was I seemed to know him. No, not just know him, I missed him.   
A figure jumped through the foliage of a bush in front of me. He was covered in sweat and blood, but I didn't focus on that. The figure before me, someone I had never met in my life, I knew. I knew him in the indescribable way your gut tells you the truth, whether or not you have experienced or seen it.   
He stared back, eyes wide. He seemed surprised to find me, maybe even a little relieved.   
My heart ached again. I'd never seen this man in my life but I felt the compelling urge to bear hug him.   
His eyes grew misty. "Sammy." He almost whispered my name.   
I gulped a deep breath of air and uttered a name I'd never said but felt all too familiar on my lips, "Dean?"  
Dean, Dean Winchester. His name was Dean, and he smiled back as wide as a cavern. He acted as if he had found the greatest treasure in the world. He took a step towards me.   
Suddenly, the air whistled with the sound of an arrow being shot. Dean gasped and clutched the projectile now lodged in his chest. He staggered to the forest floor.   
"Dean!" I screamed, lunging forward to catch his fall.   
He coughed up blood and spit onto the leafy ground.   
Dean smiled a sad, painful smile. "Too slow on my feet, huh?"   
He hacked up more blood. I held his head and tried to keep him awake, but his eyes fluttered shut.  
"Dean? No! Dean!"   
Sorrow choked my voice. I hugged his body closer, the wound still dripping blood. Suddenly, Dean went rigid. He pulled away and looked at me. My stomach did a somersault. No longer were Dean's eyes green with life. No, now they're an all too familiar yellow.  
Wearing Dean’s face, Yellow Eyes smiled."I'm coming, Sam. Don't you worry, we'll be a family again soon."   
Everything went black as a demon's eyes.  
.  
.  
.  
I jumped in my bed, cold sweat soaked the mattress and clung to my shirt. I bent over to switch on the lamp on my side table, and winced with the effort. Urgently, I turned on the light. It's soft beam made the room glow a strange tint of yellow.   
I looked at my hands- they were bleeding. My fingernails were jagged and bloody. I gingerly ripped a piece of cloth from my bed sheet. Biting one end, I wrapped the four crescent- shaped cuts in my hand as best I could. The mattress' springs bounced pitifully under me as I repositioned for my injured hand. He was coming. I had to leave. I had to go... but where?   
Sighing, I closed my eyes. It was too late (or too early?) to think about running for my life, or from my life. My mind slid into a state of semi-consciousness- not awake, but not asleep either.   
.  
.  
.  
The air was cool in the corridor. Everyone else was in the commons room, but I always enjoyed the view of the yard. Large windows looked out to the world beyond- the world of the sane free, the world of the sane… more or less. I stared at the perfectly polished glass and stroked its smooth surface, my hurt hands shouting in protest. That morning I'd caved and asked the nearest nurse for help. Luckily, she was one that didn't care. She applied the antibacterial, wrapped it in gauze, and happily wiped me from her mind. I smiled. It's the small things.  
I looked back outside. When people think “asylum” what probably springs to mind is straight jackets and concrete exterior. While some assumptions were true, the same could not be said for the building’s grounds. Patients weren’t allowed at the building’s entrance, but there was a beautiful backyard. Wooden benches hugged a concrete path lined with planted flowers. An old tree stood proud in the middle of the grounds, the walkway curving around it, and ending at the fence which cut patients off from the outside world.   
Behind the fence laid a dense forest of ancient planted giants. I recalled my dream, and shivered. That man, Dean, I could still feel his blood on my hands. The horrors of the nightmare reemerged. A man, a friend? Looming trees, and darkness that consumed all noise. A well aimed arrow, and a crooked smile.   
Through the night I had desperately tried to remember him. I drew his face on my notebook so I wouldn’t forget. Dean, whoever he was, was trying desperately to find me, and, for what felt like the first time, I wanted to be found.  
I wanted more than help. I wanted more than just a life of sadly limping along lonely hallways, constantly glancing over my shoulder. For the first time in a long time, I wanted to live. I wanted it so badly. I needed it. I needed to know the man from my dream. I needed to know what he wanted.  
My sad reflection glared at me from the window. I really was a sorry excuse for a man, wasn’t I? Frustration boiled inside me. A deep part of me, the part I tried so hard to contain, contemplated smashing the glass. This wasn't the only time I'd entertained the thought. The cursed vision swelled in my mind's eye- glass would litter the floor, alarms would buzz wildly overhead. My vision would go red. My heartbeat would pound in my ear. I would be able to feel the very blood rushing through the frantic bodies around me. I would bend down to scoop up the largest shard I could find and then... and then.   
I took my hand off the slick surface, leaving behind a sweaty film. My breathing had become deep and frantic. I rubbed my eye so hard it hurt. When would the visions stop? The waking nightmares fueled the monster lurking beneath the surface. No, I was not that man anymore. I had escaped, and I’d be damned if he ever dragged me back.   
The thought stopped my racing mind. I was damned, I had been my entire life. There was Heaven, sure, but not for me. Hell, well, a more or less welcome home party surely waited. Purgatory, but that was for monsters. If there was no life outside of the poison that set my destiny, then I just wanted to fade into oblivion. No eternal happiness or damnation, just, nothing. I was ok with nothing.   
I turned to continue walking towards my cell, for that's what it was- a cell. Then a voice caught my attention.  
"There is no rest for you, Sammy."  
Ice-cold tendrils weaved their way in between my vertebrae and tightened with a vice grip. I knew that voice. I hated that voice. I tried to avoid it as often as I could. I hardly opened my mouth because of that voice.  
My reflection spoke again, "You're a monster, Sam. For what you've done to people, for what you've done to anything you touch, you're going to burn."  
I whipped my head around to face the monster. He had sickening pale skin and eyes sunk so far into his skull that he looked like a dead man. His lips were chapped and bleeding. Along his face, cuts oozed liquid as white as himself. My monster, myself.   
He smiled again, with his jagged, shark-like teeth.   
Rage boiled inside me. "I've already burned," I told him, "I've endured every form of punishment that I deserve."  
He waggled a thin, blood soaked finger at me, making a “tisk-tisk” sound.  
"Oh, Sammy, but you haven't. He will come. Soon. He will come. He will take you home."  
I gulped so hard my Adam's Apple hurt. "No. I'll never go back. Not on my life."  
He snickered. "What life? Your life was over the moment you were born..."  
"Shut up," I whispered.  
"... But the worst is fearing the unknown, right?" My reflection snickered and sang in a sick lullaby tone, "Poor little Sammy, sitting in a tree, waiting for Azazel to rescue me. Again I swing, again I play, 'til I'm thrown back in the dark, old cage."  
"I SAID SHUT UP!!!!"  
I hit the glass hard. Jagged lines spread across my monster's face. He continued to smile. He smiled until the entire window came crashing down. Blood and glass spilled over the once pristine floor. My labored breaths returned. What had I done? I had used its strength. A part of me had buckled.  
Alarms screeched throughout the building. Overwhelming screams of insanity and fear cascaded over me. I clamped my hands over my ears to lessen the noise. It did nothing to silence the monster’s laughter that resonated in my skull.  
Boots pounded against the white linoleum floor. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by guards. They cuffed me, and dragged me to my room. Through it all, I didn’t resist. My mind was reeling with what I had just done. I couldn’t remember the last time I had used its strength. Was I becoming weak? Had the arrival of hope shaved down the calloused resolve I had built up over the years? I had just wanted him to stop. To stop telling me everything I already knew, but hoped to avoid.  
I wasn’t aware of my surroundings until I was strapped onto my bed. The workers buckled arm, and ankle restraints tightly. Sweat dripped down my forehead; my hair clung to my face. I couldn’t breath. The world was breaking around me.   
Something sharp pierced my skin. Liquid sleep flowed in my veins. Within moments, everything started to relax. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t rest. I needed answers. I needed to find Dean…   
A part of myself drifted into oblivion, but not without hearing demon's voice whisper in my ears. "You're going to burn, Sam."  
.  
.  
.

The backwoods road lay covered in fallen Autumn leaves. Fall. How could it be Fall already? Dean took a swig of beer and set it back in its holder. From the trunk came sounds of banging and scratching. Someone was getting restless.   
"HEY!" Dean threw an empty beer can in the backseat, a weak attempt at getting the creature's attention.   
"Shut your cake hole or I'll rip you a new one!"   
It didn't help.   
The monster continued to claw and screech in its makeshift prison.  
Dean sighed. Why couldn't the badies just accept their fate and shut the hell up?   
"Twenty more miles," he whispered to himself, "just twenty more miles." 

Twenty Miles Later

"AHHHHHHHH!!!!" the demon howled in agony.  
Holy water dripped down his face. The creature, going by the name of Sahar, struggled against his bonds. His screams echoed down the empty halls of the rotting office building. The chair rocked back and forth with the power of his quakes. Of course, raw strength would get him nowhere, and the Devil’s Trap at his feet nulled any supernatural power that could save his life.   
"It's no use, Sahar." Dean said,. He crouched to look the demon in the eyes. Sahar’s long hair was caked with sweat and holy water. His black eyes boiled with rage as steam rose from his burned face.   
"Look around you. You're not going anywhere." Dean smirked.  
Sahar spat out a laugh. "Maybe, but neither are you, Winchester. You're looking for your brother, I presume, but you won't find him. Whatever you do to me, it won't even touch what Yellow Eyes would if I say a word."   
Dean spun the knife in his hands. The blade was a beautiful thing- forged with metal from the deepest pit of Hell. Dean had snagged it off a demon in Tennessee a few years back. Since then, it had been his go-to weapon with the black-eyes sons of bitches.   
Moonlight reflected across Dean's features, but the rage in his eyes shone brighter. For a moment, the demon wondered if Dean actually could do worse than Yellow Eyes. A strong willed man with a vengeance was nearly impossible to stop, especially if he was a Winchester.   
"Listen, Sahar," Dean casually sat across from the demon on a lone office chair. "I'm going to give you three chances. Chance one-" Dean counted them off on his fingers as he went, "you tell the truth and I'll give you a quick death. Chance two- lying equals demon blade plus holy water rain storm. And Chance three," Dean smiled, "well, I guess I'll just get creative."  
Sahar spat through bloody teeth. "Maybe you should listen to your old man- give up, daddy's boy!"  
Dean bolted from his chair. He ran at Sahar and gripped him by his dreadlocks. The demon gasped in surprise. He gulped for air as the hunter pulled his neck back further and further.  
Dean glared at the filthy, scum of the earth creature. He felt no pity for the man trapped inside his own body. For all he knew, that man was dead and gone. All Dean saw was a hunk of meat in a fancy suit with a slithering, Hell infested demon inside. He truly didn't care what would happen next.  
"You're gonna regret that, buddy. Now tell me-where is Sam Winchester?"  
Sahar gargled a sick laugh. "Your brother is gone, Dean. He was gone a long time ago. Lost to all."  
Dean gripped Sahar's dreadlocks harder, causing the demon to spit up more blood. This interrogation was nearing its end.  
Dean held the knife the Sahar's throat. "I don't believe you."  
"Believe me,” Sahar gurgled between sentences, “don't believe me. What does it matter? I'm dead, and your life's work is useless. Sam. Is. Dead."  
Those were Sahar's last words. With one clean slice, Dean cut the demon's throat. Sparks of orange ran through his body, illuminating the skeleton, and burning his corrupted soul. The sound of Dean’s panting and demon blood hitting dusty floor were the only sounds for miles. Sahar could lie no more.  
Dean packed up his things. He burned the body, readied the Impala, all with one sentence racing through his mind- Demons lie. Demons lie. Demons. LIE.   
He slammed the trunk closed. Dean hated asking for help, but years of searching and coming up empty handed had left him desperate. That demon had been his last chance. The only lead he had gotten ahold of in months was reduced to ashes.   
Dean leaned back and grunted. The demon had known about John. How had he known? It felt like a lifetime ago, but the argument still rang in Dean’s ears.  
“Stay away from Sam, Dean. I know you don’t like it, believe me, I don’t either, but you need to stay out of this.”   
“Why? We’ve been spending all this time searching for Yellow Eyes to avenge Mom and Sam, so why stop now?”   
“I’m not stopping. You are.”   
“What?!”  
“Dean, your brother is beyond saving. I’ve seen what the demon’s done to him; there’s no coming back from the carnage he leaves in his wake... Just, please, stay out of it.”   
“Like Hell I will.”   
That was the last time he had seen his father. Five years, five years with no contact from the man he had once admired. Dean assumed it was a good thing and a bad thing. On one hand, his father hadn’t found Sam, on another, they still weren’t on speaking terms. Whatever, the problems of his father were his alone. On the road with no companion but the various mix tapes in his dashboard, Dean had learned how to take care of himself. He didn’t need his father; he needed Sam, and by God that’s what he was going to do.   
Swallowing his pride, Dean dialed an old friend. “Pamela, it’s Dean. Yeah, yeah it has been a while. Listen, could you meet me at Bobby’s place? I… I need your help.”

.  
.  
.  
Bobby's place was an old, run-down mechanic shop with a home attached. Nothing to look twice at, but only at first glance. Take a step beyond the "Get Out" signs, rusting machinery, and the barking rottweiler, and you'd start noticing some oddities.   
Strange crystals hung hidden in trees. The place had a subtle smell of salt to it. And, behind every other rusted iron rod, there would be a toolbox full of polished knives, and other assorted weaponry. Dean knew that some trucks were stashed with extra rounds of ammunition, and salt. He had to admit- he’d missed the old place.  
It’s, well, it’s really good to see you, boy.”   
Bobby held Dean in a tight hug. If it was anyone else, Dean would have let go immediately, but Bobby was, well, Bobby. He had watched over Dean when he was too young to hunt. He had helped Dean fix his first car engine when he was twelve. More recently, he had jerked Dean out of his pity party after the big fight with John. He had aided Dean more than Dean cared to admit. In more ways than one, Bobby was Dean’s father.   
Dean released Bobby from the hug. “You too, Bobby.”   
It had been years since the two had had a real, face-to-face conversation. Between hunting, and searching for Sam, there was no time for chit chats. Neither could admit that it wasn’t great to see the other after such a long time.   
“Alright, don’t hog the boy, Singer.”   
A woman in a tank top with dark hair smiled at Dean. “He’s got to save one for me.”   
Dean smirked. “I could never forget you, Pamela.”   
The psychic raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if that was a pickup line, or a compliment, but it doesn’t matter. Come here.”   
Pamela embraced Dean. “We missed ya, kid.” Pamela said into Dean’s ear.   
Dean pulled back. “Yeah, I, I’ve just been busy.”   
Bobby snorted. “‘Busy’ my ass. ‘Busy’ is working one case. What you call ‘busy’ is what other people call ‘obsessing’.” Bobby sighed. “But, I guess it runs in the family.”  
Dean froze. “I suppose it does.”   
A dark silence fell over the group. The air suddenly felt like was pounding on Dean’s chest, trying to break him.  
Pamela smacked Bobby’s arm, and gave him a stern glare. “Anyway, we aren’t here for you boys to sulk around. We’ve got work to do.”   
Pamela strode into Bobby’s house, leaving Dean and Bobby in her dust.   
“I’m sorry, boy.” Bobby said, “It’s just. I worry about you.”   
A moment passed, then Dean gave Bobby a sly smile. “I’ll make sure to hold those feelings close to my heart, old man.”   
“Shut up and get inside… idjit.”   
Pamela was waiting at Bobby’s kitchen table. “Glad you boys decided to join me.”  
“Bobby was just too overwhelmed with emotion at seeing me. Personally, I think he might need help.” Dean pretended to whisper the last part as he sat down next to Pamela.   
“Blab all you want, boy, but I’ve still got pictures of you during-.”   
“Ha ha, you’re right, Bobby. Let’s. Just. Move. On.” Dean said through gritted teeth.   
The old man victoriously took the final seat at the table. Bobby’s kitchen wasn’t a ‘kitchen’ in the sense of home cooked meals, sit down with family area. His had more of a “this is a week old, but it’s probably still good” charm to it. Old and new beer bottles sat on the countertop. The trash can was already filled with old beer cans, discarded numbers, and dirty napkins. One wall proudly held an array of landlines with labels such as “FBI”, “CDC”, etc. Some might call it a fixer upper, but Bobby’s house represented every American hunter, and he was damn well proud of it.   
At the table’s center sat a silver blade, a bowl, and a strange necklace. A simple piece, with a leather strap, and one gold pendant. No one knew the piece’s exact origin, only that it was highly valued among people who collected supernatural artifacts. Bobby had acquired it some years ago, and it had never seen the light of day until Pamela found it.   
“And you’re sure about this?” Dean asked.  
“About 75% sure.”   
Dean raised an eyebrow, making Pamela raise her hands in surrender.  
“Hey, if this thing was buried so deep that even Bobby isn’t sure, you can’t have a 100% guarantee.”  
“She’s right, you know.” Bobby pointed to the strange necklace. “What little lore I could find on this thing points to it being able to sense something. A few sources say the old man upstairs, but a few reference it as a tracker.”  
For last ditch efforts. Dean thought.  
“But,” Bobby picked up a blade. He extended the handle to Dean. “here’s to hoping it’ll work in our favor.”  
Dean nodded, and took the knife. In one swift motion, he slit the palm of his left hand. Searing pinpricks of pain jolted through his appendage. Dean bit his lip in concentration, pouring every fiber of him, every thought, every molecule, into one single thought- Sam.  
His blood dribbled into the old ceramic bowl. Bobby took the necklace, and sank its head into the growing pool of red liquid. Dean could almost feel Bobby’s energy mixing with his, both shouting Sam’s name. Bobby left the ancient pendant to soak in Dean’s blood. The brother leaned back, his mind racing, yet focused. All he could do was replay that night. The night he lost not only his mother, his brother, but his father as well. The necklace would work. All evidence pointed to the mysterious piece holding great power. It had to work.   
Pamela held out her hands to Dean and Bobby. Her eyes were set, no doubt deep in concentration. Everyone needed to be prepared for whatever came next, be it disappointment, or relief.   
Dean grasped her hand, letting his blood flow into her palm. “Let’s do this.”  
.  
.  
.

I dreamt of a two lane road. I turned left, then right; there was no one. Trees clung to pavement's edge, itching to crawl into the forbidden territory of craggily cement.  
I could see the moon overhead. The moon, the stars, they all hung blissfully in a sea of black night sky. When had I ever had a dream so quiet? So… uneventful? Something wasn't right. Quiet wasn't right, not for me.  
I took another step forward, but almost fell on my face. I felt the ground swell beneath my feet. Cracking cement heaved up, then down, like a breathing chest. I was sent careening into a nearby tree. My back hit the rough bark with a “thud!”. I fell onto moist grass, surely bruising both my knees.  
The world began to merge together. Stars slid into trees like two watercolors converging. The bright moon twisted into a blurry spiral; becoming one with the darkness of the night. I held my own spinning head, my eyes squeezed painfully shut. It was all too much. Too many swaying, spiralling images. I was in a sick LSD trip with no way out.   
“Been down since I began to crawl…”   
What the Hell?   
Somewhere beyond me, music was playing. Mournful lyrics with an upbeat tune, I could almost feel it growing closer to me.  
“... Been down since I began to crawl  
If it wasn't for bad luck, you know I wouldn't have no luck at all  
Hard luck and trouble is my only friend  
I been on my own ever since I was ten…”  
Slowly, I felt the world begin to cease its warped escapade. My body’s molecules stopped feeling like they were being drawn and quartered. Beneath my hands, the grass calmly receded. In its place, a rough ground grew. Gaining my courage, I finally dared to open my eyes. The first thing I saw was tattered carpet. I gingerly rubbed the fabric, where grass had been moments before. Still disoriented from my roadside experience, I gave myself a moment to lift my head.   
A house, an old, musty house, with books scattered everywhere. I was in some sort of den-turned-office room, with an old wooden desk at my back. Everything would have appeared relatively normal, if not for the three people holding hands in front of me. An old man, a woman, and another man, whose back was turned to me. Their eyes were all closed in deep focus, a mysterious bowl sat on the table between them.   
I could tell immediately that they weren’t demons. There was no smell of sulfur in the air, only booze and old books. It didn’t seem likely that Azazel would recruit humans to do his work, even for small cases. If it wasn’t demons, then where was I?   
I tried to stand up, but all the blood had drained from my legs. Instead, I ended up falling backwards onto the old writing desk. Papers and books went tumbling from their respective places, and, in sync, the three figures opened their eyes and turned towards me.  
My world stood still. Everyone was at attention, almost in fighting stances. The old man’s eyes grew incredibly wide, his face completely drained of color; the woman looked almost equally as stunned. Normally, I would be as far away from the old house as possible, leaving it and its secrets in my wake. One thing stopped me- the final figure. Bright green eyes stared at me, the same eyes I had watched the light drain from. It was him- the man from my dream.   
“Dean?”   
“Sam?”   
We both stopped, shocked at our synchronized responses. Dean took a small step towards me. The woman looked like she wanted to protest, but thought better of it. The man in the trucker’s cap had tears in his eyes.   
“Is,” Dean held back a choking sob. “Is it really you?”   
“I, um….” I nervously shuffled my feet. I might have known Dean from my dream, but I still didn’t really know anything about him. All I had was a gut feeling that we had met before.   
The man with the trucker’s cap held Dean’s shoulder. “This is all a lot to take in, I know, but for right now we need to focus on finding him.”   
Finding me? The only people who wanted to find me were demons. Had I been wrong? Were they playing me? I tried to inch backwards, but the desk was still in my way. I could have bolted to the right, to the open door, but something told me the three would have pinned me down in seconds. I didn’t want them to do something we would both regret.   
My stomach suddenly tangled into a knot. My knees buckled beneath me from the spontaneous pain.   
“Pamela?” Dean shouted. “What the hell is happening?!”   
Sweat cascaded down my forehead. I couldn’t breath; it felt like the room’s air had condensed to form a solid mass pressing hard against my chest. Dean tried to take another step forward, but the woman, Pamela, grabbed his arm.   
“Dean, this is still a vision. Something is obviously wrong on Sam’s end. Break what little connection we have and we’ll lose him forever.” She cast me a sorrowful look, then turned back to Dean. “Hurry.”   
Dean nodded curtly. “Okay, okay.”   
He squatted down to my level. I must have looked like a mess. Matted brown hair stuck to my face like glue on paper. My breathing reflected that of an asthma attack. I was drowning. Drowning in a sea of pain, of fear. Some… something was wrong. My soul was being ripped from my body. Dean’s body was practically trembling. He had tears in his eyes, like he was the one in pain.  
“Sam? Sam… where are you right now?”   
Where was I? Images flashed through my mind. Previously polished hallways were bathed in red. Once lively patients sat limp on blood- stained seats. My safe place, my windows, were as they had been when I left them- bashed in, but someone stood on the broken glass. Her brown hair was caked in blood, her white nurse’s gown torn to shreds. Collie turned to me, and my breath caught in my throat. Her eyes were completely bloodshot, liquid of life running down her cheeks.   
“Help… help us… Sam.” Collie began to cough up blood. She fell in a heap on the floor, completely motionless.   
“Sam? Sam!”   
I was back in the old house. All three party members had high levels of worried looks on their faces, none more so than Dean. He was so close that he was nearly touching me, almost throwing Pamela’s advice completely out the window.   
I sucked in deep breaths of air. “Brycon Family Psychiatric Hospital, Nebraska. Hurry.”  
The room spiralled into a dark void, until Dean’s worried look was the last thing I saw.   
.  
.  
.   
Black eyes. I awoke to two sets of black eyes standing over me, both dressed in nurses’ bodies. I didn’t recognize either, but their sickening sneers were the signature stamp of every demon. I readied my body to bolt for the door, only to find I couldn't move. My hands were restrained in cuffs at my side, and my ankles were locked to the bed frame.   
The female demon patted my head. “Aw, does baby want to play tag?”   
“Go to Hell!” I spat at her.   
Both demons howled with repulsive laughter. Their voices bounced off the walls as bone- chilling wails. The male demon’s eyes twinkled with mischief. A part of me wanted to ask what had happened to everyone, but the other part didn’t want to know.   
“Oh,” he said. “That insult never gets old.” The demon grabbed my face. He squeezed so hard I could feel bruises begin to form. My squirming only fueled his excitement.   
“Alright, alright. Calm down, everyone.” Someone’s voice called from the doorframe. A demon in a tight black dress and bouncing black hair relaxed her shoulder against the metal frame. Under normal circumstances, she would have appeared like nothing more than a woman going for a fancy night out. But, as the demon stood under the flickering bulb in my room, dark stains became more and more apparent on her dress. Black stilettos flaunted a nauseating color of red.  
I should have felt revolted, utterly repulsed by the amount of blood that stained her face and hands, but I wasn’t. Innocent people’s blood that decorated her outfit wasn’t what made my stomach hit the floor- it was that I saw myself in her place. Young me stood in that doorway, drenched in demon and human blood alike, and I was smiling.   
She grinned blood- soaked teeth at me. “We wouldn’t want to damage the merchandise.”   
With a painful shove, the male demon released my face. Black Dress sauntered towards me, a signal for the other two to leave. She sat down on my bed, hardly making the mattress move.   
She idlely made circles on my kneecap. “You know, Sam, we’ve all really missed you. It will be so great to have you back home.”   
I jerked my leg away, as far as my restraints would allow me. The mere thought of her touching me made my blood boil. No, I was not going back. Dean would find me. Wherever he was, he would find me. All I had to do is stall.   
“I am not going with you. Whatever it takes, I will beat you. I will beat him.”   
Black dress gave an exasperated sigh. “Sammy boy, you don’t really believe that, do you?” The demon studied my face for an answer. Hard, stone- cold eyes stared back at her.   
“Yes, yes I do believe that. I will shred my soul. I will fade into oblivion. I will do anything I have to. So, all you black- eyed sons of bitches can go screw yourselves.”   
The snark faded from the demon’s face. Her eyes narrowed, anger at my stubborn resolve obviously building inside her. She knew I wasn’t bluffing. With a huff, she stood from my bed.   
“You want to play hard ball? Fine. Guys!”   
The two demons returned to the room, this time both holding a squirming hostage. My breath caught. I knew it had happened, but a part of me had prayed it wasn’t true. The female nurse restrained a gagged and bloody Collie. One eye was bruised so much that it was swollen shut, but the other was wild, darting around the room at every demon, until finally landing on me. Through her gag, she called my name.   
All the blood in my body had turned to ice. I needed her to run. I needed everyone to escape with their lives. The demons were my responsibility. I had brought them down on the unsuspecting heads of people who had given me sanctuary.   
Black Dress gazed back at the two innocent captives. “Pathetic, isn’t it? Human lives, so easily snuffed out. Their bodies, so easily damaged.”   
With a swift flick of her wrist, she backhanded Collie across the face. The nurse who had shown such kindness to me, who was beaten because of me, let out a muffled scream. The demon struck again, and again, and again.   
“Stop!” I shouted. I struggled harder against my bindings. I had to help Collie. She didn’t deserve what was happening; none of them did.   
“Stop!” I screamed again.   
Black Dress turned back to me, the devilish smile had returned to her face. She had known I would give in. She had known that I couldn’t let innocent people get hurt because of me.   
“Ah, Sam.” The demon returned to my side, rubbing her bruising knuckles. “I expected more out of you. Seven years alone has made you soft. Then again, you were never truly be Azazel’s pet, were you? Escaping with your sanity, part of your humanity in tact. The sad fact is, no matter how much demon blood, no matter how much training you go through, a part of you always sees the good, doesn’t it?” She sighed, and flicked the caked on blood off her nails. “I suppose it’s just the Winchester in you, huh? You bastards never seem to learn your place...”   
Winchester? Did she say Winchester?  
Black Dress was still rambling, but I had stopped paying attention.   
Winchester? Winchester like, like Dean? Are we related?   
Puzzle pieces began to fall into their rightful places. That was why he had been so emotional, so obviously desperate to find me. He was family. Dean was family, but a nagging sensation told me he was more than that. Dean was family, and, and…   
The hospital faded away. I was in an old car, singing along to rock songs made long before I was born. Dean sat on the driver’s side, passionately belting out lyrics. We were happy. We were together, and we were happy.   
The scene changed. Dean and I stood outside of a once busy office building. We were in fancy two piece suits. A grisly scene sat before us. A good seven feet of ground was tapped off, several patches of it covered with white sheets. We flashed fake badges at a skeptical police officer.   
“Agents Zeppelin, and Elliot.” Dean lied. “We’re here to take a look at the bodies.”   
The officer scoffed. “Good luck. They’re in about half a dozen spots.”   
I didn’t doubt him. The area certainly smelled like something had died. I turned to Dean, who looked like he might throw up. A small smile crept up my lips.   
My vision changed one last time. Deep, cracking pain shot through my right shoulder. Somehow, I already knew it was broken. I felt like utter crap. The world was dark and cold. My shoes dragged across muddy earth. A voice called somewhere in the darkness. Dean and the man in the trucker hat rounded a corner on the road in front of me. They were both carrying shotguns, like they were prepared for a fight.  
That’s because they were. A voice rose in my mind.   
Dean’s expression loosened into one of utter relief. “Sam?”   
I smiled a little. “Dean.”   
His joy didn’t last long. As quickly as it had arrived, relief was thrown out and replaced with sheer horror. “Sam, look out!”   
I didn’t even have time to respond. A white hot pain, unlike anything I had ever felt before, sliced through my back. I fell to my knees, unable to carry my own weight. Dean ran towards me at full force.   
“Nooooo!”   
He slid to the ground in front of me. He was talking, but I could barely hear him. The pain in my back dulled into a deep throb. Dean was holding up my head, trying desperately to keep me awake. I knew it was no use. I could feel my soul begin to fade; my consciousness ascend from my body. I… I was dying   
One last remark from Dean made it through. “... That’s my job, right? Take care of my pain- in- the- ass little brother....”   
Brother. Dean was my brother.   
My mind fell back into the hospital room. The demon was still talking, Collie and a patient were still being held hostage. It was like nothing had changed, but for me, the world had been flipped on its head. I had a family. I had people who missed me, who cared about me. I had people who had been looking for me my entire life, the life of a twisted demon boy. The other life, the one from my visions, that had been taken from me. My family had been taken from me. Azazel had stolen everything. A life had been stolen, but by God I would not let the one I lived be destroyed as well.   
My body began to quake with anger; the world around was taking on a new light. I could almost feel the sweat from my body evaporate off, as if my rage was turning me into a human furnace. A newfound strength swelled inside my soul. All the demons must have recognized it as well. Collie stared at me with a mixture of curiosity and fear.   
Black Dress leaned inches away from my face. “Are you even listening to me, boy? Don’t you care that-?” She cut herself off. Her eyes widened, whether from shock of fear I wasn’t sure.   
“You know what? No. No, I don’t care. I am not that guy anymore, and nothing you, Azazel, or the Devil himself can change that. You know why?”   
Without hesitation, I headbutted her in the face, sending her reeling backwards. She twisted her ankle wrong, and her stilettos sent her falling to the ground. The demon hit her head with a sickening “Thud!” on the hard surface.   
“Because I’m Sam Fucking Winchester.”   
The remaining two demons, sensing a turn in the tide, released Collie and the other patient. Their hosts’ bodies shook in convulsions, before flying out the door in twin plumes of smoke. Adrenaline was rushing through my body. There was more of them, I knew it. If Azazel was on his way, then there were more to come as well.   
The patient had fled the room, which left only Collie and I. She was half facing the door, where the demons had taken their swift leave. I could see her mouth hanging open in disbelief.   
“Collie? Collie!”   
The nurse slowly turned back to me. Her face was completely white, the only color coming from the bruises inflicted upon her. A thousand questions flew across her eyes in a single second. There was so much she needed to know, but apparently couldn’t find the words. Instead, she stared down at the unconscious demon on the floor. I was worried she might pass out, or have a nervous breakdown.   
“Collie, look, I know this doesn’t make sense right now, but things are about to get ten times worse. I need you to uncuff me so we can get out of here.”   
She didn’t move.   
“Collie?”   
“D-demons. Those... those were demons.”   
I nodded slowly. “Yes, they were.”   
She nervously gulped. “And… and you?”   
“I… I’m a friend, which is why we need to go.”  
Outside my room, something crashed. I could hear the tell tale sound of demons flying through the air. They knew something was up.   
“Collie! Now! I need you now!”   
Collie shook her head, trying to force herself out of her daze. She rushed to my side, and unlocked every restraint. I tested my ankles on the floor. They were a little weak, but I could manage. I twisted my wrists, trying to get the blood flowing again.   
I turned to Collie. “Okay, where’s the speaker station?”   
She blinked in surprise. “Ah, um, it’s at the front desk. We had a private room, but it’s shut down for maintenance.”   
“Okay. Good, good, that’s good. Listen to me- go and wait outside. If you see an old black car, flag them down, alright?”   
“But, what about you?” Collie furrowed her eyebrows. “Don’t think I’ll play ‘damsel in distress’ while you fight like a lone wolf!”   
Her determination, her grit, that was the Collie that had watched over me during my time at Brycon’s. I admired that about her, but her willingness to fight wasn’t what we needed. Collie wasn’t equipped with the knowledge I had about demons, and we didn’t exactly have an arsenal of supernatural firepower at the ready.   
“I’m sorry, Collie, but that’s what I need from you right now. Just trust me.”   
She looked directly into my eyes. I felt my very soul being scrutinized. Collie didn’t know whether or not to trust me, and, given the circumstances, I didn’t blame her.   
Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Take this hallway, then a direct right. Got it?” I nodded, and Collie started to head out the door, but she stopped short. The nurse turned back and pointed at me. “But if I die, know that it’s on your ass, Sam.”   
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”   
I gave her a quick smile before she bolted from the room. There was a door leading outside, only accessible by a worker’s keycard. Collie would get out fine, but it was my turn to get to the front desk. I leaned down, and riffled through the pockets of the male nurse. A jolt of exhilaration rushed through me when I came back with his keycard.   
I followed Collie’s instructions to the locked door. Swiping the dead man’s key card, I opened the door to the lobby, and to a horror scene. Bodies lay strewn across the floor. They were all in various intact states, depending on what demon attacked who. Nearly every inch of the carpet was soaked in blood. I held my mouth to resist the urge to vomit.   
Another crash sounded behind me. Through the glass doors, I saw a growing cloud of smoke barreling down the hallway.   
Ah, Hell...  
I rushed behind the front desk, shoving aside the dead worker. “I’m so sorry.” I said sincerely.   
All the destruction, the heartbreak, it was all my fault. Some would say that there was no way I could have prevented the destruction brought upon Brycon’s, and they would be right, but I could have kept myself on the run. If I hadn’t stopped for so long. If I hadn’t gotten so, so comfortable… It didn’t matter. What was done was done. My job was to avenge those who had lost their lives. It was on my shoulders to make things right.   
On the desk before me sat various letters, a family photo, a stress ball, and a microphone. I glanced at the photo, of the smiling man, who lay dead on the floor. I said a quiet prayer for his family to forgive what I had done. I leaned into the mic.   
“Deus, et pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi, invoco nomen sanctum tuum, et omnem immundum spiritum, qui vexat hoc plasma tuum…”   
.  
.  
.  
“So, what? You exorcised an entire asylum?”  
Dean and I were rolling down the backroads of Nebraska. It was one o’ clock in the morning, but I had no intention of sleeping. We had been driving down dirt roads, taking every shortcut and loop possible, in hopes that the police wouldn’t catch wind of our location. Personally, I had no problem with it; any moment I got to spend with Dean, with my brother, was a moment I would treasure. Of course, when he wasn’t making me sound like some kind of hero to his surogat dad.   
I nervously rubbed the back of my neck. Dean was making it out to be far more of a big deal than it needed to be. “I mean, you just say the words.”   
Dean shook his head in disbelief. “‘You just say the words.’ Can you believe this, Bobby?” He shouted into the phone.   
Over speakerphone, I could hear the snicker in Bobby’s voice. “Sounds like your brother could teach you a thing or too.”   
“Hey! Say the word- I’ll kill any monster. Shifter, demon, chupacabra. I’m there.”   
Bobby sighed. “Unfortunately, I know that’s true.”  
Dean rolled his eyes, but held back another snarky remark. A sense of joy I had never experienced before rose in me. For so long I had been running scared. Running from my past, even from my future. But with Dean, with Bobby? I wasn’t scared anymore.   
“Hey, uh, Bobby.” I said into the phone. “Did you… did you get what I asked for.”   
A moment of silence passed. “Yeah, yeah I got it. Collie’s fine too, in case you were wonderin’.”  
“I never had a doubt that she would be fine… but, you’ll still meet us at your house, right?”   
“... If it’s what you want. Honestly, Sam, I don’t know if this will accomplish anything.”   
I felt a rock tie itself to my gut, and begin to pull me down. I knew it was probably a fruitless endeavor; Dean and Bobby had both said so, but I had to at least try.   
“I know, Bobby, but if I don’t… If I just sit here, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself.”   
“I get it, boy. You hard headed Winchesters just never give up.”   
“If we weren’t hard headed then we wouldn’t be Winchesters, would we?” Dean smiled to himself.   
“No, no, I suppose not. I’ll see you boys in a few.”   
I returned the burner phone to my pocket. Dean had insisted that I get one, and I was happy to oblige.   
“He’s right, you know? About being not sure if it’ll work?”   
“... I know… But I have to try.”  
I leaned my head against the cool glass window. The moonlit roads of a peaceful night rolled past. Trees, bushes, the occasional wild animal, all flew by in a flash. Everything was so calm, so normal, that I could almost believe I was as well. I could almost believe that I wasn’t infected with demon blood, that there wasn’t a crazed demon out to get me, or that my family evidently hunted the monsters I had grown up around. I could almost believe it, almost. However, a part of me didn’t want to, just like a part of me didn’t want to send my journal. But, we all have to overcome our demons, even if it takes us a little while.   
So, John, if you’re reading this, I hope you understand my side of events. Dean filled in a few blanks, but wanted to keep it third person. He insisted that it was my story to tell, not his. It was kind of nice of him, then again, it was his fourth beer, so he was feeling a little generous.  
Please know that I don’t resent you. Everything you did you did because you wanted to protect the people you love. Being scared of who I had become, uncertain if I was still “Sam”, makes sense. But, if you would ever be willing, I’d love to meet you. Dean has told me loads of crazy stories. Honestly, it sounds like our lives could be some kind of movie, or something like that.   
Dean and I will be in Jasper, Alabama hunting a coven on the 27th. If you want, we could meet somewhere? Dean insists that there’s a great breakfast place nearby. Anyway, I’m not… I’m not anything to be scared of. I’m just… just me. I’m just Sam, Sam Winchester, and I hope that I can prove it to you soon. 

\- Sam Winchester


End file.
